Lachesism
by MHCynogriffon
Summary: Lachesism - n. The desire to be struck by disaster. Mycroft was her disaster.
1. Chapter 1

Week 272 of dealing with my boss.

Patience. Patience is key, especially when working for such a childish man.

My hand lingered on the brass doorknob that led to his office for a moment taking a deep breath and preparing myself before pulling the heavy door open and entering the office, my bright red heels clicking on pale tile one second then muted by plush carpet the next.

"Mrs. Ross," He said, not glancing up from the stack of papers on his desk that he thumbed through with false interest, "Take a seat."

His free hand gestured at the swivel chair across from him. I ignored the demand and remained standing.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Worthy?" I asked, dreading his reply.

He looked up from his desk, his piercing green eyes tinged with annoyance, "Actually, Mrs. Ross, I received a phone call this morning." He paused, obviously waiting for a response. I stayed silent, matching his stare with my patient brown eyes.

He sighed, "Apparently, I had a meeting scheduled yesterday morning for two o'clock. A meeting I was not informed of. Now our client is furious with me."

My internal self, always doing the things I would like to do, rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Worthy, I put that meeting on your calendar as soon as I got the memo." I told him.

"Well, it wasn't there when I looked." He replied snootily.

Internal me began to bang her already-damaged head against an imaginary wall.

"Mr. Worthy-" I began, but he cut me off, "No, Mrs. Ross, I expected better of you. I know you are busy this time of year, but you really must learn to do the little things as well as the big. Things such as putting my meetings on the calendar."

I opened my mouth to tell him again that I had, but he simply raised his hand for me to be quiet and continued to blather on in that condescending tone of his. I tried to ignore the ire rising up in my by focusing on the speck on his hipster glasses rather than his words. However, one thing I couldn't ignore.

"Now I know that you're one of our senior employees..."

I raised an eyebrow incredulously, "Senior employee? I am thirty one years old!"

I threw my arms up in exasperation, "You know what, I'm done. I quit."

That really grabbed his attention, "What?"

"You heard me. I quit!" I shoved the neatly stacked papers off his desk and stormed out of his office, only turning around to show him two fingers. his eyes went hilariously wide and his cheeks paled considerably.

I fast-walked over to my desk and gathered my things, swearing that I would never return to this horrid place. Five years. Five years! And he still ignored every word I said. It was time to start over.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days after my dramatic exit from the bank, I downed my third cup of coffee while thumbing through the morning mail.

Bill.

Bill.

Ad.

A letter?

I flipped the yellow envelope over and let my eyes skim the front.

To: Miss Amber Ross.

There was no return address. I shrugged and used my manicured fingernail to slice open the crinkly paper and unfolded the letter.

Dear Miss Ross;

It has come to my attention that you are in need of a job, specifically a position as a secretary. You have excellent references and I happen to be in need of a secretary. I have chosen you for the job. Of course you will need to pass a small interview first. A car will pick you up tomorrow morning at 7:00 sharp. Be prepared.

The letter was not signed, but the font was fancy, almost calligraphy. It was rather creepy that someone would try to hire a person in such a way, but I did need money. I decided that if the car did come around tomorrow, I would go. Rent was due in two weeks and I didn't want to be stuck on the streets. Besides, an employer that would send a car must pay well, right?

I buttoned the last button on my cream shirt and tucked the edges into my blue pencil skirt, smoothing out all of the wrinkles. A neck tie graced my throat and I wore some itchy white tights. My high heels tapped on the tile as I walked over to the bathroom mirror to carefully apply makeup and to pin my chestnut hair up into a neat chignon. I applied my bright red lipstick with precision, years of practice steadying my hand. Checking the back of my hair in a hand-held mirror, I gave myself a nod of satisfaction before heading into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. As I spread some strawberry cream cheese over a freshly toasted bagel, a car honked outside my flat. I was on the ground floor, so my door opened directly out onto the street, Opening it with trepidation, I peered out and saw a sleek BMW parked in front of the fire hydrant. I reached for my briefcase that always sat beside the doorway, checked that everything I needed was in it, then approached the car. A bearded man in a black tux opened the passenger side of the car for me and I gave him a polite smile. He got in next to me and as I turned to ask him something, a black cloth bag was thrown over my head, a hand reaching out stifle my surprised screams.

"Shh, don't worry. It's just a precaution." The driver assured me, although I didn't find it very assuring.

"Promise you won't scream?" The man asked and I nodded my head violently.

"Good." The hand left my mouth and I sat there in terror as the car started and the tires began to roll away. All of my mother's self defense advice flew from my head in a blind panic. The radio flipped on and classical music began to play. I almost laughed, I was being kidnapped to Mozart.

It seemed like we drove for hours until we finally stopped with a jolt. the bag was removed from my head and I blinked at the bright light surrounding me. When I could see properly again, I looked around and noticed that we were in front of an abandoned office block. Had he taken me here to murder me? I shivered.

"Get out, Miss Ross, Mr. Holmes is very eager to meet you."

The name Holmes sounded familiar to me, but I couldn't quite place it. I racked my brain as the driver opened my door and helped me out onto the ground. I was trembling so badly that I almost fell, but he steadied me.

"Don't worry." He said again, "Just be yourself."

I looked at him with my eyebrow quirked incredulously. Be myself? Was this actually an interview? Before I could ask, he gestured for me to enter the wide double doors.

"It's room 101, you can't miss it." He told me, watching as I slowly walked through the doors. Making sure I didn't run probably.

Room 101 was the first room I saw and I quietly approached it, raising my fist to knock.

"It's unlocked." A voice called out before my knuckles hit the wood. I pushed the door in and entered the abandoned office room.

Inside, a man sat in a swivel chair, twisting from side to side with an umbrella in his right hand. He had thinning red hair and beady eyes that looked too clever for their own good. He stood as I came in, leaning on the black umbrella.

"Hello, Miss. Ross, I do apologize for the...peculiar manner in which you were brought her. One can't be too careful after all."

My eyes must have been wide as plates but I managed to answer without a tremor in my voice. Well, without much of one.

"Who are you? What do want with me?"

The man tilted his head, "You read my letter I'm assuming? Then you know why you're here."

"B-but..." I stuttered, "The car-"

"Ahh, yes. I see." He scratched the beginnings of a beard with his non-umbrella hand, "I can see how that might have upset you, but you will be compensated for any trauma caused to you."

My mouth dropped open. Who was this man?

He held out his hand for me to shake, "My name is Mycroft Holmes, and I am in need of your skills."

 **Hi! Thanks for taking the time to read Lachesism! I hope you enjoyed it and please fav and comment :) Also, this takes place during season 2 so Sherlock and John have already met.**


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